


The Garden at the End of the Street

by quokkall



Category: NCIS
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, F/M, Prompt Fill, TIVA - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-13
Updated: 2016-07-13
Packaged: 2018-07-23 19:47:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7477533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quokkall/pseuds/quokkall
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony and Ziva AU inspired by the prompt: she always worked on the yard at the end of the street, her and her garden a permanent fixture in the neighborhood, until she wasn’t.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Garden at the End of the Street

It was mid March when Tony first noticed her. Or rather, when he first heard her laughter and couldn’t help but look in the direction the joyful sound had come from. The corners of his mouth pulled upwards on their own accord, seeing the care-free smile on the woman’s face as 78-year old Mr. Pollen kissed her hand. The old bachelor was up to his usual, exaggerated flirting and he briefly wondered if that would be him, many years from now. He hoped not.

There was a smudge of dirt on her right cheek, her curls piled together in a loose bun, faded jeans hugging her legs just right, more dirt on the knees. He watched her point at one of the shrubs in the small garden, talking animatedly, and when she moved to look back at Mr. Pollen her eyes crossed his for a moment. The little flutter of intrigue in his gut as they stared at each other made him forget, for a few seconds, that he was already running late for work. It wasn’t until the old man called his last name and waved, that he snapped out of his reverie and waved back, announcing he was running late, and headed for his car.

As spring slowly turned to summer, Tony realized the garden at the end of the street had never looked more beautiful. He wasn’t entirely sure whether that was because of the flowers and trees, now in full bloom, or the foreign beauty taking care of them. Uncharacteristically, he hadn’t talked to her in all the months since he first noticed her. Other than his occasional “good morning” or “looking good” (he wasn’t entirely sure whether he was referring to the garden or her).

It was early June when he came home late one night and saw a teenager acting suspiciously in the small garden. Before he had a chance to walk over and question the teenage boy, who was looking increasingly shiftier, the brunette walked out and snuck up to the boy unnoticed. Whatever she said made the teenager startle and drop what appeared to be a rose.

Tony was grateful for the streetlight in front of the garden illuminating the scene. It was clear from her body language and the slightly amused look on her face, that there was no need for him to intervene. He watched her walk inside briefly and reappear with shears and paper. A few minutes later she handed the boy a bouquet of roses and an excited “thank you” drifted down the otherwise quiet street. As the teenager bounded over the fence and ran past him, Tony couldn’t help but shake his head a little at the infatuated look on the boy’s face.

“Completely lovestruck,” Tony said, pointing back at the teenager, as he noticed the brunette staring at him.

“Head over feet,” she replied with a broad smile that lit up her face.

Tony frowned and tilted his head slightly. “Heels. Head over heels,” he corrected good-naturedly.

The slightly confused look on her face was quickly replaced with a grin and a chuckle, before she walked back inside bidding him goodnight. He stood in the darkness a moment longer, wondering why he never struck up a conversation with her. Determined to get up a little earlier in the morning and finally introduce himself properly, he walked through the front door of his apartment building.

The introduction never came; the garden was unusually empty that morning. And every morning after that. Mr. Pollen informed Tony later that week that Ziva—why had he never even bothered to ask for her name—had unexpectedly gone back to Israel for business. She hadn’t specified when she would return.

Summer faded to fall, but Ziva didn’t fade from Tony’s memory. The once beautiful garden, now neglected and overrun with weeds, a daily reminder of her absence. He made a few feeble attempts at maintaining the garden, for when she came back, but he was clueless when it came to gardening. As the fallen dead leaves piled up and turned an ugly brown, he was losing hope of ever seeing her again, feeling a pang of regret at waiting too long to get to know the mysterious beauty.

On a cold morning in early November, Tony stopped dead in his tracks as he walked out onto the pavement. In the abandoned garden at the end of the street stood the woman he’d been hoping to see for months. Her back was turned to him, slumped shoulders in stark contrast to her usual confident posture.

Unwilling to let another chance slip through his fingers, Tony walked up to her, a spring in his step, feeling lighter than he had in weeks. When she turned slowly, taking in the unkempt garden, he noticed the forlorn look on her face.

“I tried to keep up with it, but I didn’t really know what I was doing,” he said apologetically with a small smile as he reached the low picket fence.

Tony’s eyes widened and he pursed his lips, clenching his jaw when she looked up at him. He was taken aback by her gaunt and pale appearance. The cheek that had been covered with a smudge when he’d first seen her, was now marred with a fading bruise. His eyes flicked over more green and yellow bruises covering her neck and right temple, to the cut in her bottom lip. As a cop he had seen these injuries more than he cared to remember. The dead look in her eyes made his heart ache and he hoped whoever had done this to her was paying for it.

“I’m sorry,” Tony said, feeling somewhat relieved when she glowered at him, happy to discover the fire within her hadn’t died completely. She clearly wasn’t looking for sympathy for whatever happened to her.

“I think I really screwed up the rose bush,” he added quickly, giving her a half-smile.

“It is not a complete loss,” she said in a subdued voice, looking at the bush.

“Maybe you can teach me a few gardening tricks and I can help you fix this mess.”

“It is too late.” Ziva swallowed hard and blinked rapidly.

“It’s never too late to fix things, it just takes some time. Before you know it spring will be around the corner and everything will feel lighter and brighter.”

Ziva looked at him, brows knit together. The corner of her mouth briefly twitched as a gleam of hope appeared in her eyes and she nodded.

He gave her a lopsided grin and stuck out his hand. “Tony DiNozzo, gardening apprentice.”

Her mouth twitched the tiniest bit again and she shook his hand, saying, “Ziva David, recently unemployed.”

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: I don't know how or why this happened, all I know is that I was suffering from Somalia feels, and that prompt popped into my head. Thanks for reading, hope you enjoyed it. Feedback is greatly appreciated and savored.


End file.
